


Enough of Almost

by lordmxrphy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, What I Like About You AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:15:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4362713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordmxrphy/pseuds/lordmxrphy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke comes back from her internship in Paris and finally decides to confront Bellamy about her feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough of Almost

**Author's Note:**

> So this came about because my best friend and I were watching What I Like About You and, like everything, it got me thinking about a bellarke au. You don't have to have watched the show to follow the story, it was more of a jumping off point than anything. I hope you like it!! Please leave me a comment with your thoughts <3
> 
> Also, I'm considering writing a morning after sequel if anybody's interested...
> 
> You can also read it on [ my tumblr here](http://lordmxrphy.tumblr.com/post/124353269447/enough-of-almost)

“-an idiot. I can’t believe you didn’t come. She asked about you…Of course she did! You told her you loved her and then you didn’t speak for two months! You're one of her best friends, Bellamy. I don’t know what she’s thinking exactly, but Clarke missed you.”

Even in her jet-lagged haze, at Bellamy’s name Clarke’s eyes popped open. She adjusts subtly on the couch, straining to hear the conversation in the kitchen, hoping Raven won’t see her and realize she’s awake.

“What do you think she thought when you weren’t there? She thinks you realized she was right. That you can’t commit. That you must regret what you said. Hell, she probably figures you’ve gone back to sleeping with every girl who smiles at you,” Raven pauses listening to Bellamy on the other end, “No, she didn’t have to say it, I’m her best friend, I know how Clarke thinks,” another pause, “Listen Bell, if you don’t pull your head out of your ass and tell her how you feel soon, I’m not going to just sit back and let her pine over you. Enough is enough.” 

After a few minutes of listening to Raven move about the kitchen, Clarke figures it’s safe for her to move. She pretends to just be waking up, yawning and stretching. She doesn’t have to act very hard, she’s exhausted. The clock above the oven says it’s 11 pm. Which means to Clarke it feels like 5 am. Even with her internship in Paris, she would never be awake this early. But now, with the combination of a four hour nap and overhearing Raven’s conversation, Clarke knows there is no way she’ll be able to fall back asleep. 

She pads up to her room after saying goodnight to Raven, wrapping her arms around her best friend in a quick hug from behind. She then waits until she hears the door to the guest room down the hall click shut before she tiptoes out of her room, willing her chucks to not squeak against the floor as she makes her way to the front door. 

Her mom is at a seminar in California she couldn’t miss, otherwise, there is no way Clarke could have snuck out. Her mom has super-sonic hearing. It’s ridiculous. Luckily, tonight, that’s not a problem. 

For once, Clarke doesn’t let herself think things through, she just takes her mom’s car and drives. It’s midnight, and the city is bright and busy around her. She drums her fingers on the steering wheel, desperately hoping that she didn’t misread Raven’s half of the conversation.

She lets herself in to his building with the key he gave her ages ago when he got tired of having to buzz her in every time she came over. She pauses outside his door.

Clarke takes a deep breath, steeling herself. She doesn’t know why she fees so nervous. It’s not like she’s never been to Bellamy’s apartment before, she knows it as well as her own. The ugly yellow walls. The ratty couch that folds out into the most uncomfortable bed of all time. The meticulously organized shelf of books and records. This is also not the first time Clarke’s tried to tell him how she feels, but tonight, it feels more real. Solid. Final. She doesn’t think they can go back to being just friends after this. She doesn’t think she’s ever really been ‘just friends’ with Bellamy. 

There was always something more. Lexa saw it, Clarke feels a pang of guilt just thinking about how she denied her feelings, how she let things go on between her and Lexa, even after she’d started falling for Bellamy. Lexa was her first serious relationship, not her first kiss, but her first everything else. 

She and Lexa got together in high school, and Clarke knew things had gotten hard, even before Bellamy. She had never been able to say those three little words. And she knew that Lexa needed more than what she could give her. She doesn’t regret ending it, she just wishes she had handled things better. Been honest. She doesn’t want to make the same mistakes with Bellamy. 

With them there was always an undercurrent of possibility, the promise of something more. They had already had too many near misses. Too many almosts. She’s ready to bite the bullet and finally lay all her cards on the table. Like Raven said, _enough is enough_.

She shakes out her hands and gives herself a mental slap. Clarke Griffin is a badass. Clarke Griffin will not be intimidated by a _boy_.

She knocks on the door. There’s some shuffling inside and Bellamy opens up the door. Shirtless. _Fuck_. 

Bellamy’s eyes widen with surprise taking her in. She must look kind of crazy. She’s still wearing the same black jeans and grey henley she flew in. Her curls are probably a mess and she isn’t wearing any make up. But she can’t bring herself to care because it’s Bellamy. And just the sight of him makes her throw her arms around his neck and hug him. He doesn’t respond at first. But Clarke doesn’t give a fuck. She needs this. Her hands press into the skin of his bare shoulder and she tucks her face into the place where his shoulder and neck meet. She inhales and lets out a breath against his skin, because, for the first time since arriving at JFK, she feels like she’s home.

It’s only a few moments but it feels like much longer before Bellamy finally snaps out of his stupor and wraps his arms around her waist pulling her in even closer, lifting her onto her toes. He buries his nose in her hair and Clarke can feel him breathing her in. Her eyes prick with tears because she missed him so much. She missed this. The closeness. Even before she left for Paris they had lost it. She missed her best friend. She can’t let herself be a coward any longer. She pulls away first. Bellamy’s hands drop to hold her hips, like he doesn’t want to let her go completely. She smiles, the butterflies are back. But now they’re deranged, sadistic butterflies. 

“Why weren’t you at the airport?” Her voice doesn’t break. She looks at Bellamy. Searching. He won’t meet her eyes.

He clears his throat, “I wasn’t sure you’d want me there,” his voice is deep and gravelly. His eyes won’t stop moving. They flit over her face, across her hair, up and down her body. It’s like he’s trying to memorize her, afraid she might disappear at any moment. The only place his eyes don’t land is on her own, where her gaze is still trained on him. Clarke lifts her palm to his chin tipping his head to make him look her in the eye. 

“I always want you there, Bell,” her voice gives out a bit at the end, throat thick with the meaning of her words. She wills him to hear what she didn’t say. _I love you_.

“I’m glad you’re not sick of me yet,” he says, playing it off with a smirk. Clarke knows that he still doesn’t get it. He still thinks that she only wants to be friends. The rest of her words stick in her throat.

Bellamy takes that moment to notice they’re still standing in the threshold of his front door.

“This is ridiculous. Come in,” he grabs a discarded black shirt from the couch, barely pausing between words as he pulls it over his head and walks to the open kitchen, “Have you eaten? You have, right? It’s late. You hungry? Or thirsty? Did I ask that? There’s milk and juice in the fridge. And water. I have whiskey and some beers if you want. Do you? Want some whiskey? I think I’m gonna have some.” 

Clarke doesn’t have a chance to respond, Bellamy barely takes a breath as he continues to babble. She watches, amused. He reaches into the cabinet above the fridge, pulls out a whiskey and pours himself a glass. Stopping mid-thought as he downs the drink.

“You want some? Clarke?” Bellamy finally realizes that Clarke hasn’t said anything, she doesn’t see the flash of vulnerability cross his face when her looks at her, her gaze caught on the something else. 

Clarke is staring at the huge glass bowl on the counter. It’s filled with lumpy chocolate batter. Looking around, she notices the rest of the kitchen is a mess. There are discarded egg shells in a bowl by the sink, an open packet of chocolate chips next to it, and there’s flour. Everywhere. She swipes a finger in the gooey chocolate and then pops it in her mouth. Cake batter. Dark chocolate. Her favorite. She looks over at Bellamy who’s shuffling his feet, gaze trained on the floor. He lifts another glass of whiskey to his mouth, presumably to keep himself from rambling. 

“Why were you making a cake?” Clarke’s voice is soft, careful.

For the first time since she got there, Bellamy looks her in the eye. She can hear her heart pounding in her ears. There’s so much emotion in his gaze. He swallows hard, “I missed you, Clarke.”

Clarke feels like her face might break in half she’s smiling so hard. He grins back at her almost shyly and something about seeing him smile for the first time in months breaks her. She closes the last few steps between them, and kisses him. Bellamy kisses her back with barely restrained fervor. Her hand grasps his jaw then moves to card through his hair. He chases her lips, licking into her mouth, devouring her. She’s never been kissed like this. It’s all fire. Flames lick up her body and threaten to consume her. And she’d let them, she’d let the fire turn her to ash just to keep kissing Bellamy. 

He pushes her back against the counter, his hands on her legs. She gets the message and helps him lift her onto the counter before wrapping her legs around him. His hands trace up and down her thighs as he presses open mouthed kisses down her neck, he trails his tongue across her collar-bone while she tries to control her breathing. 

She pulls him back up to kiss him again but bursts into giggles when she sees his face. She presses her forehead to his shoulder, shaking with the force of her laugh. His shoulder is tense and Clarke pulls back to look at him, still laughing. His gaze is hard, closed off. Like it was before they knew each other. She realizes her mistake and controls herself.

“Bell,” she brings her hand to his cheek softly, “I wasn’t laughing at you, or this, I was… You have cake batter all over your face.” She can’t quite contain the grin that breaks out.

Bellamy exhales and relaxes, smiling, “How did—?” he starts, “Oh.” He lips purse in a fond smile as he recalls how she tasted the cake batter before they kissed. “Well, this hardly seems fair,” his gaze is playful and a second later Clarke gasps when she feels cool batter on her face. She is too stunned to react as Bellamy uses his finger to paint a chocolate mustache across her upper lip, his smile bright enough to blind the sun. Clarke doesn’t hesitate as she reaches into the bowl beside them, grabs a huge handful of batter and smears it down Bellamy’s neck and across his shirt. 

A moment later they’re wrestling over the bowl like little kids, both covered in sticky batter. Clarke tries laugh but is cut off by Bellamy’s lips on her own. He tastes like whiskey and chocolate. She can feel the batter on his cheek smear her face. She huffs, pulls away from Bellamy’s lips and licks a clean line up his jaw and across his cheek. 

“Mm that is some good cake batter I gotta say,” she smirks. 

Bellamy’s dark eyes, his pupils wide with desire cause a pull deep in her stomach. “I wonder,” Clarke says slowly, “if it all tastes this good.” 

Clarke slides off the counter, laces her fingers with Bellamy’s and grabs the messy bowl with her free hand. Bellamy practically drags her to his room. They don’t waste any time, both eager to test her theory. 

Later on, Bellamy is breathing heavily, exhausted. He’s sound asleep on his side, his hair still damp from their shower and Clarke curled around him. (Who would’ve thought Bellamy Blake would be the little spoon?) Her nose is pressed between his shoulder blades and her left hand draws lazy circles on his chest as it rises and falls slowly. Clarke drinks in the moment, blissful and sated. Her eyes find some batter they must have somehow missed on his shoulder blade. It stands out, a dark smear against the spattering of freckles that cover his body. She kisses the smudge away, nothing had ever tasted better to her.


End file.
